


The Adventures of Grimory and Anarchaia

by Soule



Category: World of Warcraft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-26
Updated: 2017-06-26
Packaged: 2018-11-19 03:34:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11304849
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Soule/pseuds/Soule
Summary: Grimory SIlversong, a demon hunter tasked with liberating the Nightfallen from their overrun city, and Anarchaia, a spritely mage and apprentice to the Archmage Khadgar, assist one another in their adventures through the Broken Isles despite their differences. (All chapters posted here are canon to the GnA storyline.)





	The Adventures of Grimory and Anarchaia

            Grimory Silversong tapped the heel of his boot nervously against the stone wall behind him. Arms folded tightly against his broad chest, he cast a glance at the guard beside the entrance to the Violet Citadel. A cold breeze blew through, ruffling his soft blond hair and the rune-stitched cloth secured around his waist as if ushering him further inside the main hall but he remained at the door. Waiting.

            The familiar hum that comes with the displacement of matter in space was heard and he turned. Before him stood the Archmage Khadgar, taller than he—even at Grimory’s nearly six-and-a-half foot height—and bright blue eyes heavy with wear. The human smiled down at him and ran a hand over his silver hair.

            “You’ll have to forgive me,” he said with a titter. “I promise I’m hardly ever late. Some last minute vicissitudes.” He gripped his ornate staff tightly in large, gloved hands.

            “Vicissiwhat?” Grimory responded pointedly, stepping forward.

            “Nothing,” Khadgar replied with equal shortness. “So you’re the steward that’s been assigned to aid me. Whom do I have the pleasure…?”

            “Grimory,” the Illidari said, a hand outstretched.

            “Charmed.” Khadgar took his hand and gave a firm shake. “I pray you’re up to any task I’ve got for you.”

            “Not that the choice is mine, but sure.” Grimory shrugged.

            “Good!” the Archmage chirped, his grin widening amid hazel stubble. “You’ll be overseeing the securement of our ties with the people of Suramar. Their citizens are in dire need of assistance. Demons have infiltrated their governing bodies—“

            “Yes, okay,” Grimory interjected, the use of large words in such succession making his head hurt. “Where do I start? Who do I talk to?”

            Khadgar grimaced at the Sin’dorei’s grammar. “I have a couple of powerful allies with _whom_ you’ll speak.” He paused, thick eyebrows raising with realization. “Oh! And one more thing.”

            Grimory opened his mouth to question but before a word could be spoken, the Archmage disappeared in a flash of swirling light. He sighed and scowled in annoyance at the prospect of again waiting.

            To his surprise, however, Khadgar reappeared shortly thereafter with a much shorter figure in tow. Crimson robes accented with ivory and black draped down their thin body to the floor. Their face and head—covered in a strange, fire-colored mask—was shrouded in the shadow of a pointed hood. A large, golden belt buckle shone at their waist. They were completely covered from head to toe and it made Grimory uncomfortable.  

            “It means a great deal that you’ve chosen to help us with gaining the favor of the Nightfallen, noble demon hunter,” the Archmage began.

            “I was appointed. I didn’t volunteer,” Grimory mumbled, brow knit.

            “I have but one last request before you go,” Khadgar continued, ignoring the interruption. He gestured to the figure behind him, ushering them forward. “For the sake of research, I implore you allow my apprentice to accompany you.”

            “Hey,” said the figure, lifting a hand in greeting.

            Grimory scrunched his face in curious confusion. Having been given only a single word, it was not enough to determine what lay beneath the mask. “What is it?”

            The figure visibly flinched, wave faltering.

            “Er, _she_ is a very adept mage and should serve as no impediment on your journey. In fact, her skills should prove useful if anything.” Khadgar set a hand on the girl’s head as one would a child’s.

            “I promise not to be a burden.” The girl tilted her head beneath the palm and Grimory could only assume she was smiling by the brighter, more feminine tones in her voice.

            “I’m assuming I, again, don’t have a choice,” the demon hunter droned as though bored, shifting his weight to one leg.

            “No,” Khadgar said, grin unwavering.

            Grimory sighed and gave the slightest of bows to the man. “Then accompany me she shall. Thank you, Archmage. I’ll not let you down.” He turned on a heel, heading for the streets of Dalaran without waiting for his new companion.

            After exchanging goodbyes with her teacher, the small mage bounded forward to walk abreast with the Illidari, fingers clasped behind her back. “So whom do I have the pleasure…?”

            Grimory cocked his head to look at her, brow again knit. “You mages are all alike, you know that?”

            “That seems a little prejudicial.”

            He immediately knew that dealing with the mask over her face would prove irritating. Was she smiling? Offended? Hurt? “Just an observation,” he replied.

            She stepped in front of him to impede is path and held out a gloved hand, the knuckles of her gloves studded with gold. “I’m Anarchaia but four syllables is a lot so just call me Ana.”

            Grimory stepped aside to walk past her, thumbs tucked between his hips and his belt as he walked. “Grimory.”

            Anarchaia seemed to deflate some at the rejection but nonetheless turned and followed. “What made you want to join the Illidari ranks?” she inquired in a cheery tone.

            “Is this talking thing going to happen throughout the entire trip?” He ran his tongue over the back of the row of fangs that served as his teeth.

            Anarchaia made a noise that he found hard to decipher. “Communication is the key to any successful relationship.”

            “We just met each other.”

            “Being acquaintances counts as a relationship. Being _strangers_ is technically a relationship.”

            Grimory stopped and bent down to look into her mask, his slit pupils flicking back and forth between where he hoped her eyes were. “Look here, mage.”

            “Uh huh?”

            “I’m not doing this to make friends.”

            “Uh huh.”

            “I’m doing this because I was _told to._ ”

            “Right.”

            “Because I need to do this to advance in rank.”

            “Of course.”

            “So let’s say we just do the bare minimum when it comes to interaction. You do your research, I’ll gut some demons, and we liberate some elves, yeah?”

            Anarchaia paused, then shrugged a shoulder. “Fair enough,” she said on a sigh and followed when he turned back around.

            The two walked in silence to Krasus’ Landing. Once there, Grimory looked down at her. “I hope being an apprentice to the biggest guy in Dalaran pays well.” He gestured to the flight master.

            “U-Uh,” Anarchaia stammered. “Actually I, myself, am rather broke.” She tilted her head in the direction of the roosted gryphon and fidgeted with her fingers. “And I don’t like large animals.”

            Grimory pulled his long ears back, annoyed. “How did you intend to get to Suramar?”

            She shrugged helplessly. “I wasn’t even told I was going until this morning.”

            “What does that have to do with anything?”

            “I have _nothing_ planned!”

            The Illidari grunted, his irritation reaching a peak. “You’re proving to be very _not_ useful, you know that?”

            “I’m sorry!” the mage cried, throwing up her hands. “I’d teleport there myself but I can only teleport to places I’ve been!”

            Grimory sighed loudly and craned his head back, rubbing a hand over his eyes. “ _Fine._ ” He bent down and scooped the girl into his arms, immediately taking note of how light she was. “Hold on tight,” he growled. From the flesh of his back unfolded monstrous, skeletal wings with tattered sinew and flesh connecting the spines.

            Anarchaia made another noise—this one of surprise and awe. “Y-You don’t have to carry me!” she squeaked though her hands quickly wrapped around his neck. “I’ll find someone to send me where I need to goo _OOOOO!_ ”

            Grimory leapt off the edge of the crumbling wall surrounding the landing. Normally carrying others while he flew was much more strenuous but Anarchaia’s small frame eased his balance more than others would. Soon the wind bursting through each of their ears was enough to drown out any of her complaints.

            Once settled, Anarchaia turned her head to look at the view below, her hood billowing about her face. She gasped and loosened her grip on his neck to lean over further. “ _Beautiful,_ ” she said in a tone barely audible.

            Below them lay the entire Broken Isles: the massive tree overshadowing Val’sharah in the north, the lake harboring the ruins of Nar’thalas academy in Azsuna to the west, and the barrier-bound city of Suramar just below them—its violet spires glinting in the dusk light. The sun glittered on the waves and a passing gull squawked as it moved from their path.

            Grimory angled his wings for their descent, blinking back the tears caused by the cold air. He chose a hidden spot in the forest north of the city His boots scuffed against the dirt and it took a few steps for him to recover from the momentum of landing. He set the mage gingerly down.

            Anarchaia shook. “That…was... _AMAZING._ I haven’t flown in _years!_ ” She turned to him, excitement apparent in only her voice. “I’m sorry I doubted you!”

            “You doubted me?” Grimory grumbled and slid his pack from his shoulder.

            “Maybe a little,” she admitted, pushing her hood back to reveal the rest of her mask. It stuck tightly to her head and made the demon hunter wonder if she had any hair at all. “So Master said we had some allies here somewhere? Did he mention where?”

            Grimory furrowed his brow and produced a map from his satchel. “Do you always call him that?”

            “Who? Master?”

            His brow lowered further as he received his answer. “No. He simply said they existed. I assume we’ll come upon them if we follow the trails,” he said as his emerald eyes scoured the parchment. _In retrospect, I really should have asked._

            “You could just scout the area from above, no?” The mage pointed upwards as if to emphasize her meaning.

            “Perhaps if we’d started earlier in the day,” Grimory explained as he rolled the map back up and stowed it once more. “My night vision isn’t the best. We’ll start off in the morning.”

            “Do you need a tent?” Anarchaia tilted her head as she spoke. “It may rain.”

            “There’s plenty of trees,” he replied shortly, the irritation quickly returning. “I’m fine sleeping under one. Stay here.”

            Anarchaia sat as she was bade, legs folded over one another.

            Grimory disappeared into the forest for a short while. He gathered as many sturdy sticks and stones as his large arms could carry and returned to the clearing to find her still sitting as he’d commanded. He set down his load and began forming a circle with the stones.

            “Need help?”

            He flinched at her voice. “Not unless you can—”

            The rocks and tinder lifted themselves from the ground, circled around, and built themselves into a neatly crafted firepit. The wood ignited on its own and Grimory jerked out of the flames’ path. His eyes showed her the faintest glimmer of enchantment. “Perhaps you _could_ prove handy.”

            “Perhaps,” she tittered.

            A long silence passed as the fire crackled between them.

            “I didn’t want to come, you know.” She picked at the fingers of her gloves.

            Grimory fell backward to sit across the flames from her. “I didn’t, either. Suramar was considered one of the higher level orders, so it was the only one left to take.” He ran thick fingers through his blond mane then scratched at a cheek. “So I suppose that’s one thing we have in common.”

            “We could find other things. I imagine this will be a while so we may as well get to know one another.” She leaned back to bring her knees up and wrapped her fingers around each one. “I like reading and playing the piano. I don’t like fighting or conflict—physical or verbal. What about you?”

            “I like a good woman and a good ale,” the Illidari responded, hoping his crass reply would throw her off and buy him more silence.

            The mage merely nodded. “You seem the type. I like to indulge in a drink now and then as well. I could conjure up some right now if you’d like.”

            Grimory’s ears pricked at the notion and he straightened his back. “Uh…yeah, sure. I’m not one to deny a free drink.”

            “I guess that’s two things we have in common.” She held out both palms. In each appeared a copper mug—chilled and steaming with cold—soon followed by a bottle dumping its contents into both on its own accord. She held out the one after the bottle settled in the grass beside her. “Shall we see what other characteristics we share?”

            The Illidari stood to lean over the flames and accept the cup. He grimaced as he sipped and sat back down. “Can hardly wait.”

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [ana is done](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11831085) by [JkWriter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/JkWriter/pseuds/JkWriter)
  * [highmountain](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11833644) by [JkWriter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/JkWriter/pseuds/JkWriter)




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